


Old No. 7

by BlackDog9314



Series: Rhapsodic 'Verse Time-Stamps [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen, POV John Winchester, Rhapsodic 'verse, time-stamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/BlackDog9314
Summary: John tipped his head back until it came to rest on the sagging back of the sofa. Then he brought the bottle to his lips, drinking a few swallows of whiskey without a cup or chaser.





	Old No. 7

**Author's Note:**

> This time-stamp takes place around the time Castiel had been living at Bobby's for a few weeks or so.  
> To read the main work these one shots are written to accompany, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2660231/chapters/5945528).

John tipped his head back until it came to rest on the sagging back of the sofa. Then he brought the bottle to his lips, drinking a few swallows of whiskey without a cup or chaser.

_Broken AC._

_Malfunctioning fridge._

_Fucked up TV screen._

Neither of his sons were anywhere in sight, either, not one person apparently willing to get off their ass and help him.

_So much for someone to care for me in my old age._

John fleetingly imagined Mary laughing at the words, but found that the thought made little sense. Mary as he remembered her wouldn’t have laughed at that joke. But then again, Mary as John truly remembered her rarely made an appearance in his thoughts anymore.

He drank a little more and set the bottle down. His vision swam, and the TV was loud in his low-ceilinged living room.

He looked toward his phone, knowing that if he called again Dean was likely to miss it, again.

This was unlike his oldest, and the thought made red and sick yellow flash before his eyes.

_Fuck him. Never gets it right even when he’s here._

John was drunk, that much he could tell. The last swig must’ve done it.

 _“You look fit to be tied, baby,”_ he imagined not-Mary saying with a laugh. That was nicer, John found, and he closed his eyes. He might have chuckled himself, but he wasn’t sure.

Then John opened his eyes and looked at his phone again, sweeping it to the floor in annoyance.

_Fuck him. I feel better now, anyway._

He ignored the sharp twinge in his side as he tried to focus on the TV, cursing silently to himself as the colors lost contrast and the speaker crackled as a loud laugh track rang through the room.

_Fuck him._

_“You did your best,”_ he pictured not-Mary saying with a not-smile. John was drunk enough to let himself believe her.

He deserved that much, didn’t he?

“I miss you,” John said to the empty room.

Not-Mary didn’t answer, and John reached for the bottle again.


End file.
